Season 2 of One Piece Live Action is bigger in every way; more characters, more world-building, more ambition. And yet, somehow, it feels smaller.
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I’ve finally finished One Piece Live Action Season 2. The casting, wardrobe, and production design are undeniably captivating, and the series continues to maintain a high standard of adaptation. Even so, I found Season 1 far more enjoyable.
On paper, this second season should have been my favorite. It introduces a wide range of distinctive characters, while the world-building, one of One Piece’s greatest strengths, begins to take clearer shape. What ultimately weakens it, however, is compression. These rich elements are condensed into just eight episodes, and as a result, the emotional arcs lose much of their impact. The most glaring omission, in my view, is: no Karou in this season!
There are, of course, notable successes. Laboon and Chopper are handled with genuine emotional weight, their stories retaining much of their original poignancy. Miss All Sunday is equally effective, mysterious, lethal, elegant, and quietly magnetic. Dr. Hiruluk stands out in particular, elevated by an exceptional performance from the actor.
Elsewhere, the cracks begin to show. Characters such as Tashigi, Wapol, Kureha, Dalton, Dragon, Broggy, and Dorry are given too little time to resonate. They appear, fulfill their narrative function, and fade without leaving much of an impression. More significantly, Crocodile’s introduction feels abrupt, undermining the sense of menace that should define him. The character arrives without the weight the story demands.
The Straw Hat crew, surprisingly, is not immune to these issues. Sanji, Luffy, and Zoro each suffer from moments that fail to land with the intended force, whether heroic, emotional, or comedic.
Zoro, in particular, feels misaligned with the tone this arc requires. This is where his defining quirks should fully emerge: his terrible sense of direction, his blunt simplicity, his almost absurd devotion to the sword. The Live Action gestures toward these traits, but never fully embraces them. Perhaps it is the actor’s natural charisma, he carries himself with such composure that the humor struggles to surface. The result is a portrayal that feels too controlled.
Even his one-liners are inconsistent. This is most evident in the scene where he attempts to free himself from Mr. 3’s wax. In the source material, his decision to cut off his own leg is absurd in a way that is unmistakably Zoro; here, it is reframed as a moment of heroism, stripping away its comedic edge.
Luffy faces a different, but equally noticeable, issue. This version leans too heavily into being motivational. In the opening episode, as he laughs while facing execution at Buggy’s hands, the moment feels emotionally hollow. Instead of conveying defiance or acceptance, it comes across as forced, almost performative. It is a rare misstep, especially considering how well the actor embodies Luffy in other respects.
Sanji’s portrayal is more uneven than flawed. At times, his vulnerability and sincerity come through with real nuance. At others, key moments fail to register. His side plot in Little Garden, including the call to Mr. 0, lacks narrative weight, leaving what should be a pivotal sequence feeling oddly inconsequential.
Some of the larger set pieces suffer in execution as well. The cliff-climbing sequence, Luffy carrying Nami, with Sanji alongside, never conveys a real sense of danger. Similarly, the moment where Sanji falls and is rescued by Luffy, who stretches his neck to catch him, veers too far into cartoon logic, breaking immersion rather than enhancing it.
Dialogue is another weak point in places. Characters like Dalton and Dragon are given lines that feel stilted and out of place, which makes their scenes harder to engage with. It also raises a concern: if this pattern continues, Crocodile may face similar issues in Season 3.
And yet, the season is far from without charm. Nami, Usopp, and Tony Tony Chopper are consistently engaging. Usopp, in particular, stands out, his arc effectively captures the journey from fear to courage, as he draws inspiration from the giants of Elbaf and ultimately makes a reckless, self-sacrificial choice. It’s one of the few arcs that retains its full emotional clarity.
Despite its shortcomings, the series remains enjoyable as light entertainment. It also serves as an accessible entry point for newcomers unfamiliar with One Piece. Season 3, however, will need to deliver. The Alabasta arc is where the story begins to reveal its true depth, introducing political tension, cultural texture, and a more complex world.
And hopefully, this time, we’ll finally get Karou, and the Kung Fu Dugongs.
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A bigger world means nothing if we don’t have time to feel it.
